


Keep Pretending

by crystalrequiem



Series: Set your Soul to a Song [2]
Category: Mystery Skulls Animated
Genre: F/M, Memory Loss, Post-Cave, Pre-OT3, Suicidal Themes, Unrequitted Vithur, but our heroes are dorks, but with no memory of Lewis, confused grief, except it doesn't need to be unrequitted, lewvi - Freeform, pre-mansion, seer/spell casting Vivi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-01-30 18:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12659181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalrequiem/pseuds/crystalrequiem
Summary: "What happened to -̨̯̪͔͈̯̺̩̬̟̺̼͉͔͇̫̩̬͖ȩ̴̠̯̮̙̰̩̝̭͡͞_̴̨͓͍͇̜̤͍̹̣̙͇͓͓̱̣̗͡_̩̱͇͕̲̠̺̣͕̳̱̰̯͘͟͠͞ͅi͕͔̬͔̜̜̻̠̹̭̗̯̦̙̣̰̥͢͡s̢͙͖̘͓̱̻͘͢ ?”Everyone keeps asking her the same question, and she can't understand. Does it make sense for words to drown in color? Because that's the shape of the migraine her life has become.(A fic exploring what it might be like to forget)





	1. Might be Strange

**Author's Note:**

> Whatup! Welcome to part 2 of Set your Soul. Thus far, Vivi's section looks pretty stand alone, so you can feel free to start here if the previous fic doesn't look like your bag. 
> 
> This fic gets a little more into headcannon, since we don't know a whole lot about Viv's family other than their character designs. Hopefully you won't mind. 
> 
> Timeline wise, this fic fits both before and after Flicker Out, but I don't plan to cover the same ground very often. 
> 
> Drop a line if you enjoy! (or don't!)

 

* * *

 

> _And my mind keeps on changin’_
> 
> _I’ve gone blind, I can see through_
> 
> _And my mind’s fully fadin’_
> 
> _And I know this might seem strange_
> 
> _Keep pretendin’ it’s okay_

_-_ Mystery Skulls _, 555  
_

 

* * *

 

It starts like this; Vivi sits, half-conscious and cold in the hospital waiting room. Mother’s here too for some reason, carefully stroking her hand. Whether she means to placate or reassure, Vivi can’t tell. It’s miracle enough that she even understands where she is. She feels groggy and mindless—loose like unmolded clay. She has nothing left but her basest instincts, so she… starts counting off. Something must have happened, right? She needs to make sure everyone made it out safe and where they belong.

First, Mystery. The last few hours seem unreal when she tries to remember them—hazy, like walking through a dream. Where did she leave him? She thinks… Right. He’s with Grandma. He looked a little roughed up when she saw him last, and she assumes he got them to the hospital this morning? He’s gotta be tired. Grandma knows how to take care of him, even if she’ll harp on about it bitterly the whole time.

Second, Arthur. Something inside her twinges with pain as she tries to think. _Arthur_ she repeats to herself again, and it makes her feel brittle. When she last saw him—when she last saw him he was—Her stomach flutters, gives her the sick sensation of falling from a very high place. Arthur. _GOD_ ARTHUR. He—all that blood, and she—his _arm_!

“Oh, sweetheart,” Mother’s hand tightens over her shaking one and Vivi realizes that she’s crying. Why is she crying? ( _God, God—Arthur)_

Second, Arthur. Maybe Mystery got him to the hospital this morning? He’s nearby. He’s just down the hall, and soon enough the staff will let her in to see him. He’s going to be okay, she thinks. He’s _got_ to be okay.

Third, —

Third, there’s—

There’s…?

Who’s supposed to be third? She always counts off three, doesn’t she? Who goes third?

“Darling,” Mother coos, and Vivi wonders what she wants. She loves her mother, but the woman’s antics can grate on her at the best of times, and things aren’t exactly fantastic right now. “I know it’s hard. I know something horrible happened, but don’t you think you should try to talk about it? For me?”

Try. Try to talk. Vivi’s nose wrinkles as she mulls the request over in her head. Try to talk about what? Is she not talking? What does her mother want her to—

“Arthur,” Vivi says, and her voice sounds strange and weak. “Arthur’s hurt,” It’s all she can think to say. What else is there to talk about? Arthur’s hurt—hurt _bad_.

Her mother’s lips press together in a moment of upset. “I know, but,”

This is what her mother says: “Sweety, what happened to Lewis?”

This is what Vivi hears: “Sweety, what happened to -̨̯̪͔͈̯̺̩̬̟̺̼͉͔͇̫̩̬͖ȩ̴̠̯̮̙̰̩̝̭͡͞_̴̨͓͍͇̜̤͍̹̣̙͇͓͓̱̣̗͡_̩̱͇͕̲̠̺̣͕̳̱̰̯͘͟͠͞ͅi͕͔̬͔̜̜̻̠̹̭̗̯̦̙̣̰̥͢͡s̢͙͖̘͓̱̻͘͢  ̸̛̫͓͓̖͍̭̳̲̦̞̭͎̠̙̦̰̦?"

                                                                                                           

It’s like—It’s like her mother is speaking in a language she can’t quite hear. Like it _bends_ away from her before she can get her mind around it. What—?

“Who?” Vivi asks, and watches her mother’s face go very pale indeed.

 

* * *

 

If that were all, she might simply write her confusion off as a bad dream or a hallucination. The shock of Arthur’s injury and near-death had affected her _deeply_. The world unraveled around her and refused to make any sense at all until she could believe Arthur might live. She pushes her own mother away and refuses to leave his side, hardly dares to _sleep_ until she sees him awake again. The hospital doesn’t allow dogs other than therapy canines, so she misses Mystery horridly the whole while, but she _needs_ him to be okay. If the last memory she has of him is the sight of his tear-tracked face, pale and motionless amongst a river of his own blood, she—

Well. Suffice it to say, she hadn’t exactly been in the best mental place.

Eventually, the nursing staff starts to worry about her wandering around in blood-spattered clothing through a sterile environment. They hand her a pair of extra scrubs and bundle her skirt and sweater in a bag she can take home later. Vivi scarcely notices.

She spends all her time isolated in his hospital room, folding gift-store paper into makeshift ofuda. Granny would be appalled. She has no way to bless them without flame or incense, and she doesn’t even recognize the names of all the gods she writes to for help, but… Every time she looks up and catches sight of Arthur’s pale form, hooked up to the monitors and so _still_ , she—

Blasphemy or not, useless or not, she can’t exactly cast any other protection spell in the middle of a hospital. Besides, Mystery keeps telling her that the intent of the spell means more than the form, and she intends Arthur to recover. Isn’t that what matters most?

She folds another sheet of paper and picks up a pen, lets the characters flow from her fingers without any guidance from herself. Maybe she could buy a lighter from the shop downstairs and run through a blessing in the smoking area. The other visitors and staff might look at her strangely, but she’d never been one to care. She adds the tag to her growing stack, picks up another sheet of paper, glances at Arthur and—

Her heart skips a beat. His eyes are open.

She’s never been so glad to see the color amber in her entire life.

“Arthur,” his name escapes with a whoosh of air that leaves her breathless. She drops everything to stumble towards him, knocking her stack of homemade ofuda over in the process. Loose strips of paper with illegible names skitter across the floor and she doesn’t _care_. “Arty, you’re awake!” It’s a stupid thing to say, but she can’t help feeling a little stupid. She has to make sure this is real.

He blinks at her, even and languid. His gaze tracks her motion across the room just a second too slow. Vivi remembers suddenly that the nurse has Arthur’s morphine dialed higher than usual; they’d upped his dosage when he started whimpering in his sleep, hoping to let him actually rest. Maybe the drugs worked a little too well.

“Buddy, you look high as a kite right now,” she can’t help giggling, filled to the brim with nervous energy. For a few seconds, she watches his lips quirk into a dopy grin and thinks maybe she worried for nothing. But then… Arthur looks down.

Vivi follows his gaze to the bandage-covered stump where his arm used to be. Her heart drops like a stone in her chest. “Yeah,” she tells him, resolutely ignoring the way her voice quavers, “I know it sucks, Art. I’m so, so sorry. I couldn’t—” couldn’t _what_? She doesn’t know. She has no idea what happened to him—how he lost it, what they’d even been _doing_. Even so, she feels like this mess is somehow her fault. They’d been on one of _her_ cases….

Hadn’t they?

“….’s notta dream?” It takes her a while to decipher his slurred speech, but as she realizes what he means, her throat grows tight. Her vision blurs and she has to choke out a response.

“No, Art. I wish it was, but it’s…” She thinks instantly that she should have lied. Arthur’s hazy expression tips toward panic. She can hear his heart monitor pick up in tempo, her every instinct screeching at her to fix it, “It’s going to be okay. We’ll get through it, alright? You’ll be fine! You’ll see,” Vivi reaches out and gently cups the side of his face to block his line of sight. It doesn’t seem to matter. “Arthur, hey,” she coaxes, nearing her wit’s end. Her free hand hovers nervously over the nurse call button.

Arthur simply stares at her, wide-eyed and frozen. He looks like nothing so much as a frightened doe, preparing to bolt. He opens his mouth to speak, visibly struggling to find the words. She doesn’t know what she expects him to say. By all rights, he should be frightened, or even angry. If he had lashed out, she would have understood. But she certainly doesn’t expect him to ask,

“Why’re y’ here?” Vivi’s features twist into a confused frown. Nothing and no one could tear her away from him when he needed her, and she thought he’d known that. They’d been inseparable since elementary school. Had she done something to make him question it? Sure, maybe he’d seemed a little uncomfortable lately with—

With? There _had_ been something, right? She clearly remembers catching Arthur’s unhappy expression in the rearview mirror as they sped along the road, but…. But that doesn’t make sense. If she’d seen him in the rearview, who could have been driving the car?

( _There’s color in her head, eating away at her thoughts with a sense of warmth. Something just a touch more purple than magenta, threading through her veins, stilling her racing mind. Arthur always drove. Arthur always drove.)_

Arthur—is staring at her. She still hasn’t given him an answer. There’s a knot of _something_ building in her chest, but that doesn’t matter. Her best friend is staring at her in terror, and she has no clue what he fears.

“I’m not going to leave you, Arthur. Never.” She has a front row seat to watch him fall apart and she doesn’t know _why_. He flinches away from her touch, beautiful eyes filling with tears. “No, hey, Arty, I—do you want me to go? I… did I do something wrong?”

“ ’s dead, right? Has to be, or you’d be with Ļ͈̜̮̼̻͙̔̆͞͝e͎͓͍͕̱͕͈̓̓̔́̆_̰̗̖̯͔̳͇̂́̐ͩ͌͒̇ͯ͡-̶̜̘̥̦̗̼̗̖͋ͥͮ͠ͅsͪͩ̎͂̉͊͏̵̖̩̜̻̫̻͓͈” 

…what?

She thinks instantly of the strange conversation with her mother in the waiting room. Whatever Arthur ugently wants to convey snakes away from her in the same maddening way. She’d thought maybe the whole thing had been some kind of stress-based hallucination, but the way Arthur looks at her now…

“I—I don’t—”

“Viv, please. Please tellme ’s not dead. You—you got’m outta the cave, right? You wouldn’t l̝̒͑e̴̛͉̹͔ͥͭͣͪ̎́̍t̶̠͔ͫ͜͝ ̴̱̹̻̔́̓ͣͧ_̸̝͔͔̎͘-̵̨̯̬̳͕̟̹̮͋̇̄ͣ̅̏͂͜ͅ_̯̝̟͍̓͑̋̎̇ͅį͉̠͇̘̲͇̓̋̄̄́ͧ̔s̫̩͙̹̎̂͜ ̵̳͍̳̱̳̔ͬ́ͅd̵̝͇͉ͯ̀̑͒͞i̳̰̬ͫͥͥ͗͋̇͟e̢̧̦̫͑̓́ͣ͌͛̓ͧ̌, right? Ev’n though I̞̲̳̠ ̻̹̪̗̥̱̩̆̋̂̒̆͗p̥͉̥̪͇̮̊̓_͈̣ͩͥ̋̿̉͐ͣš̗̞̤͉̪͍͊ͥ̂̋h͇͎͇̼̝͗̓ḛ̼͇̯̤̫̈́̑̃ͣ͆̑d̵͎͔ͪͥ ̴̠͕̦̺ͭͦ͑-͍̪̠̟̗̥̝̀̿͑-͈̹̮̙̇̎̑͆ ͎̓͞o̧͎͔͖̜̩̝̘ff͖͍͉̋ͮͣͬ̔ ̘̩̯̠͈̋̊̈́̋̅̾̍ͅt̴̖ͨh̪̭̬̳̿̅̋̃͂͟ͅȩ̝ͨ̽ ͤ̒͂ͪȩ̱̌̇d̙͑̂ͬ̉͛ͤ̚g̵̥̺̎̈́̑͋̓̌e̤̜̗̗͉̟” 

His words weave in and out, warping and stretching into static as he talks. She can see his lips moving, but she can’t hear him past the fuschia heat in her head. It’s the strangest thing. She can hear his heart monitor whining clear as day, but whatever he so desperately fights to tell her is—

( _Light flashes behind her eyes, somehow soothing and painful all at once. It pries her thoughts away, pushes her questions back under. Arthur’s on a lot of morphine, isn’t he? He must have dreamed something terrible. Have to help him—have to keep him calm_ )

That heart monitor sounds concerning, and she hasn’t worried over Arthur all this time just to watch him die in front of her now. She reaches out for him, tries to ignore the strange headache building in the center of her skull.

“You—you need to calm down.” Probably one of the worst things to say to someone in a panic, Vivi realizes, but she can’t think in a straight line. Arthur dissolves, pleading with her. She can’t understand a word of it—every syllable sends another spike of pain through her skull.

 

 

“Please, please – I didn’mean to. I͝t ma͡de͝ ͞me p̨̪̼̟͢ ȗ̶̡̧̅̈͂͛̇̊͆̎͐͒̀sh̷͕̫̠̼͚̖̭̪͜͞ ̤̝̣̰̠̬͇͔ͅh̶̯̻͖_͏̡̦̲̬̩̞̝͔m͍͕̩͙̖,̴̵̘̦̗̗̯̤̣͕͞ ̴̟̠̬̳̟̳͖͇a̡͔̝͖̳̣͈n̷̡̘̜͓̣̮͍͉͍͕͝ḏ̘ ̞̠͕̖͠t̷͎̲̼̳̪̭̤h̟̪͟͜e̞̗̳̖̘̘̫r͕̪e̮͉͔̬͉̗͜ ̛̈ͩ͛͋̀͛͠͏̶̟̤̺̞͖̠̰̼͇̜̪'̨̬͕̲̘̱̼̞͓̮̱̫͐̔̌̈s̴̰̦̮̣̞̻̮̪̞͚̬̬̪͊̃ͩ̒͆̿͋͒̃ͬͨ̉̒̆͢ ̶̴͕̱͎̖̘̥̞̼͓͔̗͈̼̎̍͋̽͝s̵̙̪̲̲̫̤̱̲̼͛̐ͨ͊̐́̑͆ͦ̃ͫ̎ͯ̋̊͗ͬ͐́͞ͅǫ̴̶̥͎̙͙̤͍̦͔̤̜̘͔̪̪̣̘̙̓̎͌̈́̾̏ͯ͒ͮ̍̏͠ ̧̩͕̥͖̫̭̣͈̞̞̔̇͋̓̍ͮͪͣ̋ͧm̨͔̻̭̳̞͖̝͙̮̦̼̏̈́̍̊̇̔͑̅̄̊̉̏͆͒̚͟͟ȗ̶̡̧̘͚̣̲͖̲̜̤̳͍͓͕̼̪̙̅̈͂͛̇̊͆̎͐͒̀c̨̨̝̞͚͈̫̦ͣ̿̅̌̊͊͞ḥ̺̭͎͕̗̙͕̱̤̙͎̐̀͌̍̐ͪ̓̿̑ͫ͂ͩ̓͛̐͟ ̢̲͔͉̈́̽ͩ̆̅̕͝b͎̣͈͙̥͇̞͕̩̙̳͈͓̞̓̔ͭͅͅͅl̷̢̢̛̬̘̬̫̣̟̤͉ͧͬͧͦ̐ͯ̔ͪ̚ȯ̸̜̱̫̗͓̦̣̮͔̗̤͖̯͎̟̳̾̌́ͤͣͯͅo̧̯̙̘̣̘̗͓͔̳͛ͣ̈́͐̈́̍̐͊͗͗̽̑͘ḑ̸̴̨͕̝̯̤͕̙͉͖̟̟͂̀̀ͣ̋͠. God, please don’ l̢͟et̵̸̕ ̛L̨e͞ -̷͜_̶͏͘͢͡-̕͏̴͠ ̢͏͜b̴̵͠e ̺̣̥͞d̻̞̗̖̭̮̗͟ȩ̦͔̥͇͜ͅa̭̩̘̥͖̼͈͈̪ḓ̨̡̲̣̣̜.̳̣̪̫̳̪̹̺̹ ̸͖͕I̶̞̲̪̻̭͕̬̕͟ ͞҉̯̲̩̩̤̞̮̱̣̦̘͇͜ͅḍ̘͇̝̹̣̱̪̺̲͈̮̮̖͞͠i̢̛̺̦̤̲͎̩̖̕͜͞d̷̫͓͕̼̙̮͉̥̝̗͢͜͞͠n̶̶̢̺͔̟̻̟̼͓͖̘̳̫͔̭͈̻͙'̸̛͔̣͚̜̥̭͘͢͝ͅ ̨͎̥͙͔̞͍͍̣̺̤͉̯͍̺̼͉͓͜m̵͔̠̳͓̯̗̯̪̖̫̻̼ͅe͏̫̝̹͉̣͈̫͓̦̩̕͞a̷̴̟̼̦͚̰̰̪̮̰̭̹͚̹͝ͅn̶͔̞͕̹̹̗̱̯ ̜̞̮͚͚̕͢į̛̪̟̙̦̼̤̣̰͖̦͇̳͍̘̬͇̺͘ţ̶̖̱͎̻̼̫̼̭̱͙͈͎͔̱̱̩̕͟-̧̰̳̜̺͉̼̺̙̳͍̼̙͘͝͞”

 

Arthur’s static spills out in pinkish-purple waves, beep of his monitor stabbing through her with one final crescendo of agony.

Lucky for both of them she hits the nurse call button with her face when she passes out.

 

* * *

 

Something is very wrong.

If she thought so before, the feeling only intensifies when the police show up and start asking her questions she _can’t hear_. They’ve pulled her aside for a statement more than a few times now, but she can’t seem to get through the answers. Things start simple enough; where were you and your friend that night? How did he loose his arm, are you sure you didn’t see anything, blah, blah—but then…

“What happened to _̸̝͔͔̎͘-̵̨̯̬̳͕̟̹̮͋̇̄ͣ̅̏͂͜ͅ_̯̝̟͍̓͑̋̎̇ͅį͉̠͇̘̲͇̓̋̄̄́ͧ̔s̫̩͙̹̎̂͜?”

It’s that same question over and over again. She can’t understand it. Every damn time, she stares and squints and tries to parse the words away from the noise. “Was _̢͢͡e͘͏w̸i̵̕-̕̕͢͝ ͜͢ with you when ͞͝͠y͢͝ơ͟͡ų̸̶͠r̷͟͟ ̴͘͠͝͡f̛͜r̶͜͡͞i̷̧̛ęn̴̨͟͢d͟͏̡͜ ̵̕͡w̨͟a̢̡̢͢s ̸͜͢͡͠a̸̷̧̧͢t͏̨͘t͡a̷̡̛͜͞c̴͏̧k͘͝ę͟_̸̢̛͠͞?”

It doesn’t matter how hard she focuses or how much sleep she gets. Eventually, the lights blare pink-purple-pink and before she knows what’s happened she winds up face down on the couch in Arthur’s room.

Vivi groans as she comes back around. She pushes herself up, ignoring the way her face sticks to the plastic of hospital furniture. Her cheek stings when she pulls away. She assumes she now sports a highly attractive red mark.  

“Hon, you’re not going to help your friend much if you don’t take care of yourself,” Arthur’s nurse calls from his bedside, her hands moving efficiently through the task of pulling the old dressings away from his wound. Vivi pushes herself upright with a groan, her hand already reaching up to rub at her habitually sore head.

“I know,” she answers, and tries not to let too much of her frustration color her voice. If she could just figure out what was _wrong_ with her, maybe she’d do more to address it. But try as she might, she can’t discern the source of all these fainting spells. Is she suffering some kind of prolonged stroke?

Whatever it is makes her skin crawl, keeps her instincts singing with alarm. There’s only one thing in the whole world that worries her more. She steals a glimpse of Arthur, propped up against his pillows on the elevated bed. The nurse fusses at him beneath her breath but it's patently obvious that the blonde can’t understand her. He’s awake today, or as close as he can get on a fresh dose of medicine. Liquid gold eyes catch her own across the room and she hastens to send him a smile.

He doesn’t smile back. He hasn’t said a word since the first day he woke.  

They tell her he’s just been hit harder by depression than the average amputee—that these things pass with time and support, but there’s a magenta-toned whisper threading through their words every time they say it. She knows it’s something different—something worse.  

“You feelin’ alright today, Arty?” She calls, even knowing he won’t answer. His nurse tuts at them both and adjusts the mattress height until she can get a better view.

“Well, that nasty little infection seems to be blowing through just fine. Seems like you get to go home sooner than we thought.” Vivi wishes she could remember the nurse’s name. She cares for Arthur regularly. Seems kind, if a little irritable. After spending so much time in the hospital, Vivi thinks she might be due a little irritation now and then. “Are you the one who’ll be taking him home eventually, Blue? Someone’s going to need to know how to do this for him.”

She doesn’t expect the question, so it takes her a while to respond.

“Oh! I—guess so? Unless his uncle…” Vivi trails off, hit with a sudden flash of horror. _Arthur’s uncle_. What if he didn’t know? They were prone to long leaves of absence on their road trips, so he might not even know he should worry. And even if he did, he had no way of knowing they were in Tempo’s regional hospital in particular. She’d just been so distracted. Besides, her mother had fielded so many calls and texts when she arrived that she figured the whole town must know by now. She hadn’t even thought to contact…

Lance is going to _kill her_.

“Uncle?” the nurse parrots, and Vivi shakes the waves of panicked shame away. She can feel like an idiot later.

“I mean, yes. I’ll be the one.” She gets a suspicious side-eye from the older woman, but no further protest. Arthur has no input on the subject. He simply stares, follows Vivi’s path across the room until she comes to a rest at his side. She hates seeing him so _empty_ , but it’s a better look than death.

Maybe she just has to remind him that she’s here. Vivi slides her hand into his and holds tight.

Arthur, unblinking, squeezes back. Hope flutters anew in her chest. They can do this. Things will be alright again. Lance and her blasted head problems can wait. “Show me what to do,” she demands, and the grumpy nurse favors her with a smile.

 

* * *

 

Eventually, stymied by their persistent silence, the police demand a medical exam. She’d very nearly gotten herself arrested for refusal to cooperate before Mother managed to step in. They have to drag her, seething, from Arthur’s hospital room. Vivi hates them for it. She promised Arthur she wouldn’t leave.

Well, if they’re going to make a liar out of her, this had better be worth it. She puts her game face on and resolves to get this over with as quickly as she can.

She doesn’t remember what happens next. She _does_ remember the diagnosis.

“Dissociative Amnesia,” the doctor says, background music to the vision of her mother’s frown carving deep furrows in her skin. 

She can’t think too deeply about it. Every time she tries to understand it, her thoughts turn to static. Apparently, she’s forgotten something everyone thinks she should remember. She knows that much. But if she tries to apply any logic to the things they say, she—

“Dissociative amnesia,” she learns to repeat to the police, and the investigators, and all the well-wishers who ask her questions she can’t hear and stare her down in confusion.

“Dissociative amnesia?” she asks aloud to Mystery in the quiet, at some point after Arthur’s finally safe at home. Perhaps the doctors know their science best, but the feeling of her thoughts skipping like a record so many times a day couldn’t feel further from organic. Mystery pointedly does not look at her when he nods. She should find that suspicious. She tries to mark his behavior down, a clue to think on later.

She forgets.  


	2. Haven't got a Clue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously the NaNoWriMo thing didn't work out. hahaha. Still not giving up on this project tho. 
> 
> Hope ya'll still enjoy.

* * *

 

 

It’s another fight to get her mother to drop her back off at the hospital after the trip to the psychologist, but she’s a grown woman, dammit, and she’ll go where she wants. She might have a fancy new mental illness in her medical file, but there’s nothing physically wrong aside from a little lost sleep.

—Songs drift from the radio to her ears over the sound of the tires on road. Every second stanza sparks a flash of magenta, pulling her thoughts back into the static. “ _So baby pull me closer,_ ” the voice on the radio croons, overlaid with a memory she can’t quite hear. Over and over, static and sound. Every time, her heart beats faster and her eyes _burn.—_

Mom concedes after she threatens to sneak out with the car, but only if they swing by the house first. She hates to leave Arthur behind for any longer than she needs to, but she has to admit there are a few items at home she’d rather grab before she heads out again. She races through the fastest shower of her life, guiltily pleased by the chance to indulge in hot water again.

—When she gropes for shampoo beneath the spray, her fingers find Old Spice brand bodywash instead. That’s nothing new. She’d bought it a while ago ~~because it reminded her of~~ —because she liked the smell. But next to it, difficult to see with the steam and without her glasses, sits an overly-fruity brand of shampoo in a pink plastic container she knows she’d never buy. Curious, she opens the top and ventures a tentative sniff. It’s—

~~Comforting-Painful-~~

F a **m i l** i a r-

“ _Oh my God,_ _L͏̧_̢͢͟͢w̸̷̶͜-̸̕҉ ̸̨ę̴͢͜*̴͘͝, your hair smells exactly the way it looks! You’re like a walking scratch and sniff—"_

 

 

—far too sweet. Her head aches terribly as she slams the lid closed and shoves the bottle to the back of the shower shelf. Maybe she’s allergic.—

Mystery is already waiting in her room when she races back in to change clothes. She catches him up as quickly as she can on everything she knows while she throws an overnight bag together. He likes to pretend he’s above petty human emotions, but he asks about Arthur and hangs on her every word. He even passes her a few of Grandma’s talismans on the sly as she elbows her way out the door.

—There are far too many photo frames around her room, each with a missing figure, a shadow in purple and static.

_Who?_   She asks in her own head, feels her thoughts racing in circles, running away from the tidal wave of magenta that always dogs them down.

_You know who_. Her heart answers, and she blinks away tears, even as she forgets why she’s crying.

No. She doesn’t have time to fight this. Arthur needs her. So she—takes down the pictures on the walls, flips every frame on her nightstand face down. There’s a mystery here, and she’ll hunt it down like any other, but later, later.

She tries not to acknowledge the trembling of her chin or the way Mystery’s eyes cut through her with laser focus. Her head pounds and her chest feels like someone has reached in and torn her heart straight out.

Later.—

Of course, her mother employs her usual display of passive aggression in protest. The blasted woman stops early for every yellow light and cruises at exactly five below the speed limit the whole way. Vivi lets her have her hissy fit until they reach the last stoplight before the hospital. She waits for the car to slow _just enough_ before she grabs her bag and hops out at a run.

From the way mom shrieks in her wake, she’ll probably be hearing about that one for a while, but she doesn’t regret a thing. She checks in at the front desk with an extra spring in her step and slides in to Arthur’s room with an easy smile.

—She can almost pretend she _isn’t_ losing her mind.—

 

* * *

 

Vivi dreams.

_Gods_ , but does she dream. Nearly every night, in bright colors with vivid imagery. She lives whole other lives in sleep. At times, on the edge of waking, she has trouble remembering which one actually _belongs_ to her. She’s lost count of the times she’s been late for school because she dreamed already being there.

Some dreams make more sense than others. Some dreams aren’t dreams at all. Some work more like windows she can peer through than the imaginings of her subconscious. They come at the strangest times—hazy and confusing—completely unlike her usual dreams.

This one is new.

She’s somewhere warm. It almost feels like… like the van when they’re on the road? Or a comfortable couch, or—somewhere she knows. She can’t _see_ her surroundings. They remain unformed, but she knows the feel of them. Colored lights whirr around her, pleasant and familiar.  Red glows softly on the edge of her awareness. It has no shape, but makes her think of safety and calm. Orange-gold flits in circles nearby. It’s never still, but never far either—makes her feel like smiling without knowing why. And right beside her is—

Right beside her is… someone important.

“So, where to next?” they ask. It’s the strangest thing; she knows the words, but she can’t quite hear the sound of their voice. She’s looking right at someone. She can feel their hand in hers, but—the sight of their face slips away like water whenever she tries to focus on it. 

“Well,” she feels her own mouth moving without her input. “I thought we might head east. There’s been rumors of something snatching unlucky travelers in the swamp for years, but as of last week, there's a woman hiring paranormal investigators to find her son. I planned on dropping her a line, as long as there are no objections.”

“I have a few,” orange chimes. Its unformed light solidifies into the shape of Arthur behind her. “A _swamp_? People could go missing for any number of reasons that have nothing to do with the paranormal. That lady’s son could have been swallowed by mud, or drowned, or found by a gator. For that matter, why would anyone even go there in the first place?” She can hear _his_ voice just fine. It echoes a little strangely, but every bit of his worried sarcasm rings clear.

“So then we find the body, reveal his completely natural end, and we don't bother with a single spooky creature! Easy paycheck!” Vivi chirrups. She doesn't have control of what this version of her does, but that happens often enough in dreams. It's common to find herself "along for the ride," like watching a movie. The odd thing here is just that... she thinks she's seen this before.

"Sure. And how exactly are _we_ supposed to avoid death by natural causes the whole time? I don't know if you've ever met us, Viv, but we're not exactly outdoorsy types. I don't even think we own _mosquito repellent_." Yeah... Yeah, she's definitely heard him say that before. She remembers this very discussion. They'd been deciding whether to apply for the Hutchinson job in Louisiana. She'd spent the whole talk wishing she could just tell Arthur about Mystery's other form; not much point in fearing the regular mechanics of the wild when they had an actual ancient nature spirit watching their backs.

"Would it help if we promised to stay near well-traveled areas? I know you don't like to hear it, Vi, but he's got a point when it comes to our survival skills. We're used to combing places a little more.... Urban." Just when she thinks she knows where she is.... there's that voice again. She _knows_ that voice, but she can't... Purple-magenta lingers in the corners of her vision. She remembers those words, this conversation! why can't she— who was it? It's driving her crazy. She feels like she has to know—like the world might end if she can't figure it out. There's this... ache in her chest.

"Come on, man, you don't _really_ think you're going to stop her from running off into the swamp the moment she catches sight of something interesting, do you?"

"Well... okay, maybe not, but..." Who _is_ that? they feel so familiar—like she should know them better than she knows herself. Why can't she see their face?

"Hey! I'm right here, you two!" she already expects the sound of Arthur's muffled laughter. She watches herself lunge for him, ready to deliver the noogie of a lifetime when—

Strong arms wind around her waist, and even through the confusion they feel _right_. That warmth at her back—she doesn't understand how she's gone without it. She can't remember the right voice, and her mind refuses to show their face but... that laugh. She _knows_ that sound. It rolls through her, deep and baritone and _gods_ , she misses this person so deeply it _aches_.

"Hey, if you wanna prove me wrong, you can be my guest," Arthur teases. She misses this too— this side of him. It's only been a week or two since the accident, but—

"And if _you_ want—" she knows what she said here before; she'd teased Arthur right back, until the mystery person had—had— said something about dinner...? She wants to lean into whatever this is, let herself appreciate whatever reprieve she can get from reality but...

Her hazy memory skips and flickers like the end of a film real, bright lights and warmth falling away with a horrible pang of loss. In its wake, unease creeps through Vivi's bones. Her every muscle constricts slowly in continuous succession until she’s wound tight. Her skin crawls; someone or something is watching them.

The soft hues of long ago fade out, leaving behind sickly, green-tinted stone. Her heart beats like a hummingbird's in her chest. Something terrible is about to happen, something she can't stop. She's got to—she's got to wake up.

Emerald light flares, just once, before her ears ring with the most _horrifying_ sound. She can’t figure out where it originates from or why it frightens her so badly. Her thoughts are running rampant and incomprehensible. She—

She realizes why she knows the noise, just as the screams fall silent.

_Arthur_. 

 

* * *

 

She wakes mid-panic, jerking upright so quickly that she strains the muscles in her stomach. Her every sense cries out to find her best friend and fix it _right now_ , but... as she stares wild-eyed into the dark and tries to still her breathing, reality slowly washes in. The constant hum of Arthur's monitoring equipment and the distant bustle of the hospital eventually drown out her racing heart. It's alright. It's okay—she's sleeping nestled into the couch of Arthur's room just as she has every night since he'd been allowed visitors.

Arty's in no danger. He lies deep asleep on his hospital bed with his pillows well-fluffed, buried under more blankets than she thinks she could stand. Exactly the way she'd left him.

Even so... even so, she just wants to make sure. Simply seeing him across the room won't satisfy her jangled nerves. She rises on unsteady legs and tries to shake out the pin-and-needle sensation in her feet. Her neck aches fiercely. If she never sleeps on another lumpy couch again after they get out of here, it'll be too soon.

"Alright, Art, I know I'm crazy, but I just—" Vivi's gotten too used to babbling to fill his silence. Luckily, she doesn't have to fear waking him if she stays quiet enough. Painkillers help him sleep through the night like a charm. She pulls the mountain of blankets away from his face and starts as her fingers brush against his skin. How can he still be so cold under all that?

For one, hysterical second she thinks he must be dead, but the continuing steady hum of monitoring machinery helps to disabuse her of the notion. He's alright, just... very cold and clammy to the touch for some reason.

— _There's a lingering echo behind the sensation—why does she know how the flesh of a dead loved one feels? Why had that been her first thought?_ —

Vivi frowns and leans closer to look at him. It's hard to see his features in the dark, but she thinks his expression seems... troubled. He whimpers in his sleep as she watches. "Oh, Arthur." It hurts so badly to see him like this. She _hates_ that this happened to him with her whole being. All this time listening to him reaherse worst-case scenarios of every case, and she'd never really believed any of it could happen for real.

Her eyes feel suspiciously damp. Dammit. She hasn't been getting enough sleep; she's far too emotional. Vivi soothes a stray lock of blonde away from Arthur's cheek, letting her fingers linger on the stubbled texture of his jaw. He's kept with that silly goatee since he learned he could grow one. Won't it make him sad if it's all unkempt? Maybe the nurses have a way she can help him shave.

Either way, it can stand to wait. Arthur's been dealing with fevers and infection all week. She's felt worrying heat eminate from his brow these last few days, but never unnatural cold.  She doesn't know what it could mean; everything she can understand on the vitals display looks normal. Maybe it's just legitimately freezing in here, and she's gotten used to it...? Vivi pushes back up and starts looking for another blanket. They don't have any more extras in easy reach, but her own blanket might suffice. She's preparing tuck the final fleece around his already well-padded shoulders when she catches a whiff of the strangest smell. It smells like... burning?

Fearing the worst, she rushes into motion. If there's a fire, she has to get them both out. She's no expert, but she's watched the nurses adjust Arthur's bed enough times to know how to unlock it. Vivi leans down to look at the release mechanism and—

and—

She figures out what's burning.

When she'd first gotten here, she hadn't known what to do with herself. It had been all she could do to fold protective charm after charm, praying for the best with all her might. She'd even actually gone through with a blessing, hackneyed though it had been. Certainly, her grandmother would never let her hear the end of it if she ever found out. But it had made her feel a little better—like maybe she could do _something_ to help Arthur make it through.

She hadn't wanted to post them in places the nurses might need to reach, but they had to be close to Arthur to have any effect. So she'd used syrup from the cafeteria to stick her invocations in a rough ring around the bottom of Arthur's hospital bed. Her biggest fear at the time had been that an orderly might discover her charms and try to clean them away.

To be honest, she hadn't thought much on it afterward. The project had made her feel a little more useful, so she'd worked on it. Afterward, there was already so much more to worry about, she hadn't even thought about checking the seals.

Now, every single one of her homemade ofuda is an inch too short and charred at the edges. The tags continue their slow process of dissolving to ash from the bottom up even as she watches.

Her silly, spur-of-the-moment protection spell is straining to keep something away.

Generally, Vivi likes ghosts. The thought of meeting the unknown—interacting with other worlds and lives—it fascinates her. Her love of the unnatural led her down the path of an investigator, and she's never looked back twice. But right here and now? She's going to find whatever is trying to mess with Art and kick it into the next afterlife.

Vivi mutters darkly as she whirls on a heel and crosses the room to find her bag. Lucky Mystery had had the good sense to pack her a few proper seals on the way out. From the looks of things, her self-made ones won’t last much longer.

She doesn’t know what could be tampering with her barrier, but she’s also not horribly surprised that _something_ would. Hospitals see more death than the average building and therefore tend to house a few more spirits, no matter how modern or advanced their facilities. On the other hand, unlike other haunted areas, most spirits in hospitals simply linger out of sadness or fear. The standard hospital ghost tends toward morose rather than vengeful. What it might want with Arthur, she has no idea.

She calls out an invocation as she replaces a new layer of charms, and watches Arthur’s face relax ever-so-slightly. Whatever this thing is, it behaves as something of a paradox. It has to be relatively weak, given that she can hardly sense it on her own. Vivi's been training with Mystery long enough that she tends to notice when there’s a spirit of any strength nearby… on the other hand, a weak spirit usually wouldn’t have any desire to tangle with her protective charms at all, let alone the ability to burn through her tags so quickly.

Arthur sleeps easier with the new tags in place, but almost as soon as she has them stuck to the bed, she can smell the first hint of smoke. That strikes her as far too strange; maybe her own wards had been weakened by nerves and improper preparation, but her grandmother's shouldn't wear so quickly. Especially not from something Vivi can't even _sense._

More and more, she regrets that Mystery can't be here beside her. Maybe she can get _̢͢͡L_-i̵̕-̕̕͢͝ ͜͢  to—

There it is again, that flood of fuchsia light, blaring in her thoughts. She stumbles, clutching her head. What—what had she just been thinking? Something about Mystery, and the hospital, and—

Maybe she can guilt one of her parents into finalizing his service-animal paperwork for her. She had most of it already in process. She'd just been waiting for the silly spirit to get over his pride long enough to finish the thing. He had a right to his feelings, but surely he must realize how useful the certification would be—and with Arthur like this, she—

Shit. Arthur.

Vivi falls back into the world with a jolt, looks down and sees that her wards are already a centimeter shorter than before. She doesn't understand how she keeps getting lost in her thoughts, especially with potential danger in the room. Chastising herself, she heads back to her bag and hunts down her make-shift spell-book.

Generally, she'd have something ready to drive spirits away or communicate with them, but she hadn't exactly prepared for a case when she'd rushed back to the hospital earlier. She'll have to go for something smaller for now, and if that doesn't do the trick—

Well. She'll cross that bridge when she comes to it.

By the time she finds something she thinks will work, the ofuda have already retreated another few centimeters and Arthur has gone back to whimpering in his sleep. Damnit, whatever this thing is needs to leave him the hell alone! Furious, Vivi starts chanting her basic invocation. She follows her jotted notes, and traces a path through the room as she calls out the words. Very briefly, she wonders what a nurse might think if they tried to check on Arthur just this instant. She finds she doesn't care.

She puts all her will into the chant, focusing with purpose on Arthur and on keeping him safe. She _feels_ the moment her stronger spell snaps into place.

Before that instant, whatever had been attempting to reach Arthur had too weak of a presence to sense. As the spell solidifies, so do the spirits in the room.

Plural.

Vivi's surprise doesn't manage to ruin her concentration, but it's a near thing. She doesn’t know why she hadn’t considered it before. Multiple spirits make a lot more sense. It better explains the paradoxically strong effect such a weak presence would have on her wards, but no less than _four_ minor spirits titter angrily in Vivi's direction as her spell lights them up and pushes them out of the room.

She has the good sense to stick a few extra tags above the inner doorframe as insurance, despite her lingering bewilderment. The spirits she'd just sent off had been tiny echoes, barely even still sentient. Creatures like that almost never acted without something more powerful egging them on, and certainly never in concert or with any kind of focus. What made them behave that way? and why would they try to hurt Arthur?

She _really_ needs to figure out a way to sneak Mystery in. She's far too tired and frazzled to give this whole fiasco the attention it deserves. She'd feel much safer with her guardian and friend along.

"Showed them a thing or two, hunh," she mock whispers as she creeps tiredly back to Arthur's side. He doesn't answer, of course, but the bravado makes her feel better. Vivi settles into her usual chair beside his bed, snakes a hand beneath his mountain of blankets and loops her fingers around his too-thin wrist. His skin already feels a little warmer.

She knows she shouldn’t fall asleep here, folded awkwardly in the hospital chair, leaning forward with her face pressed to Arthur’s shoulder, but… She can’t bring herself to move back to the couch. Arthur’s safe again. He’s breathing easy, so she can too. He’s solid, and so peaceful, and she— is terrified.

Something hurt Arthur, took his arm and his happiness both. He’s so, so fragile right now—so vulnerable. What if she hadn’t happened to wake up at just the right moment? What if—

Her grip tightens without her notice and Arthur hums at her in sleepy irritation. Her heart is almost as scattered as her thoughts, but she’s known for a long time that half of it belongs to him.

~~(Why only half? Where did the other half go?)~~

If he leaves ~~too~~ , she... can’t promise she wouldn’t follow.

Damn it. Vivi isn’t used to thinking this way. She doesn’t know why she feels so… She closes her eyes tight, breathes deep. Arthur is here. Arthur is… not okay, but, he’s here. His skin is solid and swiftly warming beneath her touch. His cheek, still a touch too-stubbled, irritates her temple when she tries to wriggle closer. He’s here. He’s alive. She can _keep_ it that way.

So why can’t she get rid of this knot of _grief_ in her chest?

She falls asleep folded awkwardly, desperately grasping at Arthur and trying not to break down. There’s a mourning wail building in her head, beneath her thoughts. It echoes on and on, rings through her very bones. It follows her into her dreams, a lamentation for someone she doesn’t remember.  


End file.
